


One Week

by bactaqueen



Series: Home of the Brave [3]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Spoilers, blowjob, brief mention of bucky being seventeen the first time he and steve had sex, domestic AU, exhibitionism/voyeurism, handjob, headed for happily ever after, mentions of straight porn, steve puts on a show for bucky and bucky appreciates it, they take turns topping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:51:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their time is their own. Bucky thinks they should spend it in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.

Bucky woke to brightening shadows and the first tinges of dawn, to the sound of Steve snoring softly beside him. He turned his head. Steve took up most of the bed, for the first time not wrapped tightly around Bucky as if afraid one of them would be gone when he woke. Bucky skated his hand between the sheets until he found Steve's. He linked their fingers as Steve started to wake and it hit him: he had nothing to do. It had taken weeks, but they'd finally gotten the privacy fence up all around the property. There were the regular chores to do and he'd been thinking about getting in some target practice with his knives in the woods at the edge of the lawn in back, but... every bit of it could wait. 

He pulled Steve into his arms and didn't mind the morning breath at all when he kissed him. Bucky ran his human hand down the front of Steve's body, over warm skin and hard muscle, into the front of his loose pants. Steve gasped against his mouth when Bucky wrapped a hand around his dick and pulled. Bucky kissed him again and again, stroking him slow and lazy, feeling Steve's cock get hotter and harder in his hand. He shifted, tucking one of Steve's thighs between both of his, and ground his dick against Steve's hip. Steve's arms tightened around him and he fisted one big hand in Bucky's hair. 

Bucky liked that Steve held him close for this. 

He liked Steve's wet mouth and the little gasps and groans that spilled from it. He liked the way Steve's body went tense the moment before he spilled, hot and sticky, over Bucky's hand. He liked the way Steve rocked into him and slid a hand down his back to splay fingers over his ass and bring him closer until he came, too, staining the inside of his own pants. 

He really liked the way Steve guided his head to his shoulder and didn't let him roll away. 

Bucky shut his eyes and sighed. "We should do this all day. We should do this forever." 

Steve chuckled, running his fingers through Bucky's hair and loosening the tangles. "I haven't been running in a week." 

Bucky poked his abs. "Not a problem for you, pal." 

Steve kissed the top of his head, extracted himself from Bucky's arms, and rolled away. "I'm going for a run, Buck. You wanna come?" 

"Just did, give me fifteen minutes and I can again." 

Steve rolled his eyes and crossed to their bureau. Bucky propped himself up on his elbows to watch Steve strip out of his sleep pants and pull a pair of running shorts from the bottom drawer on his side of the dresser. It was a nice view. Bucky certainly wasn't complaining. It was even nicer since the fence-building had given Steve back some of his muscles--and he'd had plenty of chances to groan at Bucky's "I like the way you look with hard wood" cracks--and he was looking familiar again. It was nicer still that the scars were fading, that some of the were gone already, and that Steve moved with most of his same old ease. 

He dressed quickly in shorts and a t-shirt and tugged on his socks. He caught Bucky's eye in the dresser mirror and cocked a brow at him. 

"Are you really going to stay in bed?" 

Bucky kicked off his pants and the covers, wrapped a hand around his dick, and grinned at Steve. "Haven't you ever spent the day in bed?" 

Steve's eyes strayed down. "I don't think so." 

Bucky wanted to grin at the victory of making Steve look, but he frowned. "Really? All the years you've been unfrozen, you never spent a whole day in bed?" He knew Steve was a workaholic, but damn. 

He shrugged and turned away to rifle in Bucky's top drawer. "Never had occasion," he said, and his voice was falsely mild. 

Steve sounded bitter to Bucky's knowing ears. Bucky wondered at that. He could think of at least three women--and those were just the ones he knew about--Steve had been serious enough about to warrant time off work together. He knew Steve had been on vacation. Then he remembered that even when he was off, Steve was never really off, and that all of his vacations had ended when the bad guys showed up. 

Bucky's heart broke a little. 

Steve found Bucky's iPod in its armband and tugged it up his arm. 

Bucky grinned at him. "You do now..." 

Steve rolled his eyes. He went back to the bed and leaned across to kiss Bucky lightly. "I'll be back in a couple of hours." 

"Come on." Bucky threaded his fingers in Steve's hair. "I'll be fun." 

Fear flashed in Steve's eyes. Bucky hated it. He hated that two months in and Steve still didn't fully trust that this was his reality now. 

"Maybe tomorrow," he said easily. 

"Nope. Definitely tomorrow." 

Steve smiled. "Sure, Bucky." He stole another kiss. 

Maybe he couldn't keep Steve in bed. Bucky settled back against the pillows and watched Steve leave. He closed his eyes and he listened to the careful click of the front door shutting behind Steve. He could start by keeping the old man at home, he thought. They could work up to staying in bed. 

Bucky hadn't had the chance to do this in... Well. It had been too long. He stroked himself idly, thinking about Steve. They'd done something every night and most mornings since that first night, but it hadn't been enough. Steve hadn't come apart the way Bucky wanted him to. He'd forgotten the world beyond the house for moments, but moments weren't enough. 

Bucky wanted Steve to forget everything except for Bucky. 

He jerked off in bed thinking of Steve's body over his and Steve's voice in his ear. 

Sunlight slanted through the blinds, warming the room. Bucky lounged, eyes half-closed, smelling himself and what remained of Steve in the sheets, and he thought about their home. He liked building the fence. He liked working with Steve and he liked the physical and the symbolic act of building a barrier to keep the world out, keep Steve in, keep his home safe. He liked being part of that. 

Bucky finally rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He relieved himself and stepped into the shower, planning. Plotting. He cleaned up fast, wrapped a towel around his waist, and made his way back into the bedroom. He considered stripping the bed, but decided against it; Steve could do it later, if he was feeling responsible. He dug his cigarettes and the cable channel guide out of his nightstand. They'd gotten the package with all the porn, hadn't they? He hoped. He grabbed the lube, too. For once, he was glad for Steve's insistence that there be no television in the bedroom. 

He had a reason to be downstairs, in the living room. He had a better chance of being caught. 

Steve would run twenty miles, at least, and even for him that would take a couple of hours because he wouldn't be in any hurry. Bucky settled on the couch, makeshift ashtray and lube and a bottle of water lined up on the coffee table in front of him, and he examined the channel guide before he turned on the TV. Most of it was Pay-Per-View, of course, but there were a couple of on-demand channels and three of softcore "adult entertainment." He started with one of the softcore channels. 

He was still warming back up from the last time and he wasn't in any hurry. 

Porn hadn't come as far as the rest of the world had in the last seventy years, he thought idly, and that was the last real thought he had for a while. 

*

By the time Steve got home, Bucky had made it all the way up to a bad gangbang from what he hoped was the 1980s because _that hair_. He had a cigarette in his mouth and one hand wrapped around his dick and he was thinking about how much he wished the fabric of space/time had ripped so he could have a couple of Steves. Just for a little while. 

The front door opened and Bucky didn't even look up. He just plucked the cigarette from his lips and exhaled. He stroked himself faster, imagining one Steve behind him and another in front. Then his Steve--the real one--was at the edge of the couch. Frowning. Bucky didn't need to see it to feel it. 

"You can't do that in here," Steve said. 

Bucky shot him a grin. "What? Jerk off?" 

"Smoke, you smartass. Put it out." 

Automatically, Bucky leaned forward and stabbed his cigarette out. He leaned back again and sank into the cushions. He never took his hand off his dick. 

Steve sighed and left the room. 

Bucky shrugged to himself. He spread his legs a little more and cupped his balls. The sensation of cold metal on hot skin made him gasp. It was a slow, slick ride and he was in no hurry at all. 

Until Steve came back, barefoot and shirtless, and Bucky was blinking. Steve sank to his knees between Bucky's spread thighs. Bucky started to say something--surprise, protest, or maybe a warning--something--but Steve scraped his short nails from Bucky's nipples to his knees, and he ducked his head to nose around the base of Bucky's cock. His tongue flicked out over his balls and Jesus Christ Bucky thought he was seeing God. He shut his eyes and dropped his head back and put his fingers in Steve's hair. 

Steve took his time, licking all over Bucky's sac and then his cock. He sealed his lips around the head of Bucky's dick and tongued the slit, and fuck God, Bucky was seeing stars. Steve pressed down, relaxing his throat, taking the whole length of Bucky in until his nose was pressed into the wiry dark curls at the base of his cock, and Bucky moaned. He tried not to thrust his hips, tried not to hold Steve's head down, but the wet heat of his mouth--the slick sounds of sucking--the feel of Steve's fingers over his balls and back against his asshole-- It was too much. 

He came hard, gasping and then crying out, his back arching and his hips shoved back so he slid half-out of Steve's mouth. Steve wrapped fingers around Bucky's wet cock and squeezed, gently, sucking and tonguing at the head of his dick as if greedy for every drop. Bucky moaned and pushed at Steve's shoulders, then tugged sharply at his hair when Steve let him slip from his mouth and started with the delicate little flicks of his tongue up the side of his softening shaft. Steve turned his face up. Bucky leaned forward, pulling Steve up as he went, and their mouths met in a sloppy, salty tangle of tongues. 

Bucky groped down Steve, over his ass, and then he plunged a hand down the front of Steve's shorts. He was hard, thick and heavy and trapped in the briefs sewn into the shorts. Bucky whined into Steve's mouth and squeezed harder than he should have. 

Steve pulled away. 

Bucky huffed in protest. 

Steve settled back on his heels and grinned at Bucky. His face was flushed, his lips red and wet, and he said, "I thought you were in the mood to watch." 

Bucky gaped as Steve pumped lube into his hand and pushed his hand down the front of his shorts. He stroked himself. All Bucky saw was the bulge of Steve's fist moving against the papery fabric of the shorts and he whined. 

"Are you going to let me see?!" 

Steve smiled again. "I was just waiting for you to ask." He pushed his shorts down to his knees. He wrapped one hand around his dick and cupped his balls with the other. 

Bucky's mouth was damn near watering. 

Steve got himself off fast with quick, sure strokes and rhythmic pressure. He came hard, shooting over his hand with such force that some of it spattered Bucky's leg. He moaned quietly and slumped forward, pulling his hands away from himself immediately. 

 _Damn._ Bucky reached for him to pull him close, happier than watching Steve jerk off necessarily should have made him. Steve had _smiled_. Steve was _playful_. _Oh, God, it's going to work._ Bucky kissed the top of Steve's head, then ducked and tipped his face up and covered his mouth with his own. He pulled and wriggled and pushed until they were stretched out on the couch together, until Steve's shorts were gone and their legs were tangled and their soft sticky cocks were pressed together. He ran his hands through Steve's sweaty hair and down his back and he kissed him, again and again, until he felt the hysteria of joy ebb. 

He sighed and rested his forehead against Steve's. "What do you think? Wanna do this for the rest of the day?" 

Steve kissed the tip of his nose. "I don't have anything better planned." 

Bucky laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky manages to keep Steve in bed. Steve wants to be kept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Brief mention of their first time when Bucky was seventeen (Steve would have been twenty-one).

Bucky got out of bed and padded silently to the bathroom. He nudged the door shut but didn't let it _click_ because he didn't want to wake Steve. Not yet. The lube was in the top drawer near Steve's sink, unopened and almost innocuous next to the straight razor kit. Bucky half-smiled. Even Steve's bathroom drawers were tidy and well-organized. What else did he expect? 

He kicked off his shorts and braced a hand on the edge of the counter. It had been a while since he'd done this--for himself or anyone else, really. He spread his legs and brushed lube-slick fingers past his balls to probe at his asshole. He held his breath and pushed one finger in. His half-hard cock twitched. By the time he was pumping three wet fingers to the second knuckle and twisting, he was so hard he watched his dick jump in time with the frantic beat of his heart. 

The whole day before had been spent on high idle together. Bucky lost count of how many times they'd gotten each other off with mouths and hands and rutting. They'd done everything but fuck. Bucky was ready to remedy that. 

He'd missed it. 

When he was slick and open and so turned on seeing straight was a struggle, he palmed the lube and made his way back to bed. Steve shifted when Bucky tugged the covers away. He lifted his arms and reached for him. Bucky went easily, accepting Steve's sleepy seeking kiss, and let Steve pull him close. He made small soft sounds of happiness when Bucky moved over him. Then Bucky wrapped a slick hand around his cock and Steve's bright blue eyes blinked open. 

"Bucky--" 

He sealed their mouths and sank onto Steve's cock. 

They gasped together. 

He started babbling before he could stop himself. "Oh, God, Steve, oh, God. You feel-- You feel--" 

Steve, merciful, pulled him into another kiss. He slid one hand down Bucky's side to curve along his hip, to dig his fingers into the top of Bucky's ass, as Bucky sank again and again onto Steve's dick. Bucky flashed back to the first time they did this, the first time Steve asked to fuck him, in a dark and cold and tiny room in a bombed-out safehouse in England when Bucky was seventeen. Bucky licked into Steve's mouth and swallowed the quiet moans, the sharp gasps. He moved slowly, muscles in his thighs tensing and flexing as he lifted and fell again and again. He tightened around Steve, feeling the length and girth of him. His head started to spin. It had been a long, long time since England, since Italy or France, even since Brooklyn, but nothing had changed. 

Steve still filled him up. Steve still touched him just right, shifted his hips when Bucky rose. Steve still kissed him, pulled him close and closer until Bucky thought he'd be able to crawl into his skin and live right next to his heart. Steve still breathed against his ear how good he felt, dug his fingers into Bucky's flesh to mark him. Bucky moaned and rocked and committed every moment of it to memory. 

Hard sweaty fingers wrapped around Bucky's leaking dick. He whined and let Steve stroke him three times before he wrapped fingers around Steve's wrist and pulled his hand away. He linked their fingers and pressed their hands to the pillow beside Steve's head. He kissed him, bit his lip, gasped against his mouth. 

"I wanna fuck you after you come," he blurted. "Can I? Can I fuck you?" 

Steve threw his head back and snapped his hips. Bucky felt him coming, felt the rush of heat inside and the crawling release of tension all through Steve. His mouth was open and his eyes were shut and the long, breathy moan made it too much. It was all too much. Bucky pressed his face to Steve's neck and rode him hard, feeling Steve shuddering beneath him, feeling the bruising clench of Steve's fingers at his hip. 

"Please," Steve whispered, ragged and low, pushing weakly at Bucky. 

A shift of his hips and Steve's still-hard cock was sliding out of him slowly, so slowly. Bucky's lips parted at Steve's pulse and they shivered together. 

Fingers in his hair, Steve pulled Bucky into another kiss, this one full of tongue and teeth and shared breath, deep and wet. He walked his fingers from Bucky's hip to the cleft of his ass and slid the tips in and down until they could circle his asshole, wet and stretched. Bucky whimpered. He pressed back against Steve's hand. The empty feeling was always the worst. 

"Steve..." 

Steve nipped his lip. "You gonna fuck me, Bucky?" 

Bucky groaned. "It sounds like poetry when you say it like that." He kissed him again. 

Steve laughed against his lips. 

Bucky pulled back and reached for the lube. Steve ran his hand up and down Bucky's back as he spread his legs wide, giving Bucky space to settle on his heels between his thighs. Bucky squeezed out too much lubricant and pressed one slick fingertip to Steve's asshole. Steve tipped his hips, granting Bucky better access. His eyes went back and he bit his lip to stifle the moan as Bucky pushed a finger in. Bucky had to think of baseball and blood to keep from coming all over himself. 

He bent over Steve's lap to kiss his hip and over his stomach and added a second finger. Steve's body rippled and clenched around him and Steve moaned again. He drew his knees up, planted his feet in the bed, and let his thighs fall open. Bucky groaned. He couldn't believe it. He should have, but he'd forgotten, and the sight of Steve--the feel of him surrendering, trusting Bucky so completely-- Bucky closed his eyes and tried to control his shallow breathing. Tenderness filled his heart, spilled out through his fingers and lips. He bent his fingers inside Steve, rubbing the calloused tips over his prostate. Bucky listened to his own name fall from Steve's lips as a surprised cry and he felt the twitch of Steve's cock. 

He kissed up Steve's stomach to hide his grin, eyes closed to hide what he knew he couldn't if Steve looked at him, and he thought of the serum. He thought of zero recharge time. He couldn't let himself think of anything else. 

Bucky fucked Steve with two slick fingers, then three, until there was no resistance and Steve was squirming and rocking beneath him. He placed one last sucking kiss to the smooth hot skin over Steve's heart and pulled away. He looked up. 

Steve was red-faced, red-lipped, panting and glassy-eyed. 

He was beautiful. 

Bucky choked on a breath. He was glad Steve couldn't read his mind. He filled his palm with more lube and stroked himself. Hand to dick, he felt grounded. He braced one hand on the bed beside Steve and leaned over him. Steve's arms went around him and Steve's mouth was there, and Bucky sighed against his lips as he pushed in. Steve was tight. Tight and hot and Bucky was balls-deep in him before he remembered to breathe. He kissed up Steve's neck and started to move. 

Steve wrapped around him, all arms and legs and heat and oh, God, Bucky thought he might die. He always thought he might die when he fucked Steve. _When they made love._ This with Steve was never anything as crude as _fucking_ , wasn't even during their war, but it was a thought Bucky frequently shied away from. He licked and kissed Steve's neck, turned his face and swallowed the moans and pants, poured his own into Steve's mouth. His hips snapped and the bed shook and he was coming too soon, fast and deep, trembling and collapsing against Steve. 

Trapped between their bodies, Steve's dick was hard. Bucky shifted his hips, sliding out, and he pressed another wet, open-mouthed kiss to Steve's neck. He worked his hand between them. His head felt stuffed with cotton and his limbs felt heavy. He wrapped his human hand around Steve's cock. 

"Bucky..." 

"One more time, Steve," Bucky muttered, and he fisted him, twisting his wrist and sweeping his thumb over the leaking slit. It didn't take long. Steve's hips rose and he sighed and then he jostled Bucky away. 

Bucky slid a little in the mess of come and lube between them, kissing Steve as hard and deep as he could muster with his brain and body chasing sleep, and then he draped himself over him. Steve was a good bed. He always was. Bucky had filled out since 1942, but Steve had been a good bed for as long as he'd known him. 

Steve shifted, running his hands up Bucky's back and into his hair. He kissed his temple. "Come on. Let's go get a shower." 

Bucky went limp, making himself as heavy as he could. It wouldn't be impossible for Steve to move him, but it wouldn't be easy, either. "You said we could stay in bed today." He did _not_ sound petulant. 

Steve sighed. 

Bucky yawned. "Let's just go back to sleep." He peppered kisses over Steve's lips, his cheeks, his jaw, and his neck. "We'll get up in a few hours and I'll suck your dick in the shower." 

Steve snorted. But his arms tightened around Bucky and his body relaxed. "You're such a romantic." 

Bucky nipped at Steve's pulse, eyes drifting shut. The immediate _only for you_ died in his throat. "Buddy, give me two more hours of sleep and I'll bring you flowers. I'll even bring you breakfast in bed." 

Steve laughed. He rolled so that they were on their sides, facing each other, his arms around Bucky and one leg tucked between his thighs. He kissed him, all lips and soft tongue. When he pulled away, he laid his head on Bucky's human shoulder. 

"Go to sleep, Buck." 

He was close. There was just one thing left to do. He ran his fingers through Steve's hair. "I love you, Steve." 

*

Sunlight poured through the blinds and over the bed. Steve was all gold and smooth and warm and Bucky thought he'd like to just lick him up. He turned over, and the sheet peeled away from his skin with a feeling like opening a zipper. He winced. All right, he maybe should have let Steve take them to the shower. He glanced at Steve, on his stomach with a hand laid over Bucky's heart, and since he was still sound asleep, Bucky took his time looking at him. Really looking. There was no peace on his face; even in sleep, Steve frowned. Bucky wanted to smooth away the line between his brows with his thumbs and kiss the edges of his lips until they didn't turn down so much. His eyes roamed. The sheet was shoved down to Steve's waist and his back was bare in the late morning light. Bucky followed the scars, fading but still there, traceable with lips and fingers if he was braver. It made his chest feel tight. 

He eyed the long pale pink one that ran the length of Steve's spine and thought of Steve's story of the crisis of faith he'd had, what it had done to him. Not for the first time, he wondered if Steve was keeping the scars, even subconsciously. _Maybe he thinks he deserves them._  

His heart stopped. No. No, that just couldn't... Nope. 

Bucky laced his fingers with Steve's on his chest and brought them up to his lips. Steve's hands were still so calloused, still gnarled, but they were healing, and Bucky figured his hands were as good as the scars at telling him where Steve's head really was. His hands were big and strong and heavy just like they always were, with hints of the artist beneath the shooter's callouses, beneath the tough skin of his knuckles. Bucky kissed his fingertips and his palm, smelled Steve's skin and what remained of them together. 

Steve stirred. He cupped Bucky's face. 

Bucky turned into the touch. 

Steve mumbled, "Not until we're clean." 

"Too late for us, my friend. We'll never be clean again." 

Steve's lips twitched but he didn't open his eyes. 

Bucky shoved Steve to his back and moved half-over him. He kissed him slowly, parted lips and the gentle stroke of his tongue. He linked their fingers, palm to palm, and pressed Steve's hand into the bed. He rolled his hips lazily, rutting his half-hard dick against Steve's hip. 

Steve nipped at his lips when Bucky broke the kiss. 

Bucky smiled against his mouth. "Come on. I think I made you a promise." He crawled over Steve, landed flat-footed, and started for the bathroom. 

Steve heaved a long-suffering sigh, but Bucky knew that sigh. It meant he'd won. He grinned. 

In the bathroom, he ducked into the WC. When he came out, Steve was already leaning into the big shower, hand under the spray to test the temperature. Bucky rubbed a hand up the center of Steve's chest in greeting as he stepped into the big shower. He turned his face up and let the water wash over him. It was too hot, it was always too hot--he wasn't sure either of them would ever be warm enough again. He hated that Steve felt that way but was glad he didn't have to feel it alone. 

He'd gotten his hair clean and was holding a soapy washcloth by the time the toilet flushed and Steve was back. He turned as soon as Steve stepped into the shower. 

Steve put his hands up, warding Bucky off. "Clean first," he said firmly. 

Bucky laughed. He lathered up the washcloth and reached for Steve. "You've got issues, you know that?" 

Steve pulled Bucky close and kissed him in response. 

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's wet hair and across his shoulders and let himself be cleaned. Bucky turned Steve this way and that, missing nothing, and then maneuvered him under the water to rinse away the soap. 

Bucky wrapped a hand around Steve's dick and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Satisfied?" 

Steve grunted. A smile played at the edges of his lips. 

Good enough, Bucky thought, and went to his knees. He ran his hands up and down Steve's thighs before he wrapped human fingers around Steve's cock and teased his furred sac with metal fingers. Bucky closed his eyes and kissed the head of Steve's dick and he savored the moment. 

Steve was at the top of the very short list of people Bucky liked being on his knees for. 

He licked and sucked and bobbed and stroked until Steve came down his throat, hot and salty and thick. Steve hauled him up, hands under his arms, and pressed him back against the cool wet tile of the shower to kiss him, to lick into his mouth and fit their bodies together. 

"Happy?" Steve murmured against his jaw. 

"Getting there," Bucky said honestly, suddenly overcome with the hope that one day they really could be. 

Happy with Steve was a dream he didn't even know he'd had until they'd come here. 

Steve's lips curved against Bucky's skin and he pressed one more kiss to his pulse before he pulled away. He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, one hand around Bucky's wrist to pull him along. He wrapped Bucky in one towel, dried his hair with another, and led Bucky back into the bedroom. 

Steve abandoned him on one side of the bed and went around to the other. He gestured at the unmade bed and dirty sheets. "Help me." 

Bucky stood, confused for a moment, before he caught on. _Oh._ Of course Steve wanted clean sheets. Together, he and Steve stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linens from the closet. 

Then Steve pulled him close, pushed him down, and Bucky was naked and sprawled in the center of the bed. Steve crawled over him. Kissed him. 

Bucky melted. 

Steve kissed his cheeks, his neck, and across his chest. He worked down, kissing over his belly and along his hips, breath hot and lips damp, in no hurry at all. Steve nuzzled his dick, hard and getting harder, and licked at his balls. Bucky shut his eyes and let Steve do this, let Steve touch him and kiss him like he mattered. Like he made any difference at all. He wasn't worthy. He didn't deserve this attention from this man and he knew it. But Steve licked up the length of his cock and he didn't care. He fisted a hand in Steve's hair to ground himself. He didn't pull, didn't move, he just gave himself up and let Steve have this. 

When he got control of himself, he was closer to the edge than he wanted to be. So he pulled Steve up, kissed his red mouth, and pushed him to his back flat on the bed. 

Everything Steve had done, Bucky repeated. He listened to Steve's breathy sighs and soft moans. Then he rolled Steve to his stomach and moved over him. He kissed his neck, his shoulders, down his spine. He kissed over the scars but didn't linger, kissed the dips just above his ass, and even laid a big smacking kiss on the curve of one cheek to listen to Steve's low chuckle. Bucky reached again for the lube. 

Steve spread his legs. He sighed and turned his head and looked at Bucky from the corner of his eye, half his face buried in the soft pillow. 

Bucky pitched up and kissed him as he pushed lube-coated fingers into Steve. Steve tucked his knees under his body and arched his back, an invitation Bucky was only too pleased to accept. Bucky lined them up. He wrapped one arm around Steve's middle and braced the other in the bed, and they touched from shoulders to knees as he slid in. Steve moaned and tightened around him and his eyes fluttered shut. Bucky pressed his hot face to Steve's neck and wrapped fingers around Steve's cock. They moved together, a familiar dance, an easy race to the top. 

Near the end, Bucky couldn't hold himself up any longer. He collapsed against Steve, who fell into the bed. Steve linked their fingers and rocked his hips, back against Bucky and grinding his cock into the bed. 

They came together, moments apart, slow and easy and warm. 

Bucky sighed. He kissed the curve of his neck, his jaw. "I love you." He lipped Steve's earlobe. He'd never get enough of saying that whenever he wanted, without fear of being overheard. 

Some things were meant to stay only between the two of them. 

There was a smile in Steve's voice when he said, "I love you, too." 

Bucky grinned. He shifted his hips, pulling out reluctantly. "We're going to need another shower." He rolled over and Steve shifted, and when he landed in the wet spot he winced. "We need to change the sheets again, too." 

Steve laughed and pulled him close. "Later." He kissed Bucky and stroked his arms, the touch no different whether he met skin or metal. "Later." 

Bucky closed his eyes. He could nap again, he thought. He wondered if he trusted Steve not to get out of bed. 

Steve laid his head on Bucky's chest and curved a hand possessively around Bucky's hip. He murmured, "Let's go back to sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get even more domestic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.

Steve bit the curve of Bucky's shoulder and dug his fingertips into Bucky's flesh. Bucky shoved back against him, angling his hips and pulling Steve deeper. He was close, so close, he just needed... He splayed his metal fingers against the wall of the shower and tried not to crack the tile. His vision was blurry from lust and the fog rolling up around them. He gritted his teeth and rocked his hips, chasing Steve back. 

"Steve..." 

Steve rolled his hips lazily, gliding out and back into Bucky, his big hands sliding a little further down. He rubbed his rough cheek up the side of Bucky's neck and lipped his earlobe. 

"Need something, Buck?" 

"Fuck you, Steve, this is why I don't let you-- Ngh--" 

Steve snapped his hips just right and snaked a hand around in front, gripping Bucky's cock and stroking hard. It was all he needed. Bucky shouted and came hard, shooting over Steve's hand and against the wall. He slumped forward, eyes shut, and it hurt to breathe. He reached back, metal fingers bruising Steve's flank while Steve pumped his hips a few more times and pulled out. Thick wet heat stained Bucky's thighs. 

Bucky grunted. "You're an _ass_." But there was a strange, filthy sort of pride in his gut. He liked when Steve came on him. It felt like being marked, being claimed in a way Steve used to be so careful not to do. 

"You like my ass." Steve's hands on his shoulders turned him around, and then Bucky was being pulled in, wrapped up in Steve's arms and kissed soundly. 

It had been two months. Two months, and Steve was already teasing him, two months and Bucky thought they'd probably had more sex in the last three weeks than they'd had in all of seventy years previous. He ran his hands up and down Steve's back, where the scars were little more than pale shiny pink memories, and he grabbed a handful of Steve's ass as he broke their kiss. 

"I guess it's all right." He started thinking about super soldier refractory period as he mouthed at Steve's neck and wondered if he had time to sink to his knees and get Steve off with his mouth before the water ran cold. 

Steve curled fingers in Bucky's hair and tugged. "Come on. Not today." 

"Why not?" Bucky did _not_ sound petulant, nope. The day before, spending all of it in bed napping and fucking, that had been about the best day he'd ever had. He wouldn't mind a repeat and he didn't really care how greedy that was. 

"Lawn needs to be mowed." 

"I can think of a lawn that needs mowing..." Bucky slipped a hand between them and carded his fingers through the wet, scratchy bush over Steve's dick. 

Steve huffed a laugh and pushed him away gently, but not before Bucky heard the soft gasp. Well. That was new. Or he thought it was new--it wasn't something he could remember trying. He filed the information away. He retreated, ducking under the water, glad that whoever had designed the master bathroom had considered that the couple would want to shower together. He didn't think he ever wanted to take another shower alone. He could feel Steve's eyes on him as he slicked his hair back and wiped the water out of his eyes. Good, the old man needed a show, and Bucky made a point of deliberately cleaning Steve's spunk off his thighs. When he looked, Steve was blushing. 

Bucky's ass ached in the best way and his heart felt full. He wished he'd known it would be this good. He would have dragged Steve away from the superhero life much sooner. 

Except he knew Steve wouldn't have come. Bucky, if he was honest with himself, even had the fear that once Steve was recovered--it was just a matter of time, Bucky knew--that Steve would feel duty-bound to return to SHIELD. Steve may have said he wasn't going back, but Bucky didn't believe him. 

And he wasn't willing to let that happen. Steve had fought long enough. He'd lost enough, sacrificed enough, had enough stolen from him. He'd _died_. Dr. Erskine, Bucky thought, would agree with him. He thought the Invaders would agree, too, but he wasn't willing to contact Namor to test that. If anyone deserved to be done, just done, with fighting, it was Steve. 

He kissed him one more time before he stepped out of the shower. 

"Fine," Bucky said, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading for the sink to brush his teeth. But not to shave. Shaving was overrated. Maybe later. After he'd beard-burned Steve's thighs. "I'll mow the stupid lawn." 

"Nope." Steve scrubbed his hair dry with one towel and Bucky couldn't help ogling him in the mirror as he brushed, eyes centered on Steve's dick, soft and bouncing between his thighs with the force of his scrubbing. "I'm mowing the lawn. You're cleaning the gutters and planting the hedges you promised." 

Bucky sputtered and spit into the sink. "Why do I have to clean the gutters?" 

Steve grinned at him in the mirror, like he knew what Bucky had been looking at. He wrapped the damp towel around his waist. "I want to watch you climb the ladder." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He bent over the sink and rinsed his mouth. He should have thought about all the maintenance homeownership required before he set up house with Steve Rogers. Of course he wouldn't let anything go, not even to spend a few days blissed-out in bed. _Of course._  

Bucky wondered if Steve would let him pay someone to do all the yardwork. 

Still, there were worse ways to spend the day, he guessed, when he was dragging the shiny new aluminum ladder out of the garage and he glanced over to find Steve crouched in the driveway beside the new self-propelled lawnmower. He was wearing running shorts and Bucky was pretty sure Steve had no idea he probably should have put on underwear, because the built-in netting wasn't enough to tame _that_ monster. He stood and stared, grinning, until Steve looked up and scowled at him. 

"The faster you get it done, Buck, the sooner we can go inside." 

"You can't even let me just look at you." 

"You've done enough looking." Steve stood up and pressed the start button for the mower. It sputtered to life. 

Bucky watched him go. 

The gutters weren't as gross as he'd feared and he could watch Steve while he cleaned them out, so it wasn't all bad. It was a warm morning, late spring that wanted to be summer, and as the sun rose so did the temperature. Bucky watched Steve walk back and forth, back and forth, meticulous and precise. He moved with ease, loose-limbed and comfortable in his body and with his surroundings, the same way Bucky watched him move when he worked the bag or went for a run during training. Steve wasn't on edge. He wasn't worried. Bucky knew there were still nightmares--there would always be nightmares--but he could see that Steve was settling. Steve was getting what he needed. 

Bucky just hadn't realized how much _he_ wanted it, too. 

He made quick work of cleaning the gutters on the front and the sides of the house back to where the fence started. He assumed Steve would insist they work in the backyard the next day; the lawn was getting pretty gnarly down near the treeline. Bucky was fine with that, if it meant a repeats of that morning, and he had no reason to suspect it might not. By the time he was finished with the gutters, Steve had finished mowing the lawn and was sweeping the grass clippings off the driveway. Bucky put the ladder away and got out the rototiller. He did agree to plant the hedge along the front of the house, he'd admit to that much. He just hadn't believed he'd have to do it. He'd thought that Steve would get tired of seeing the potted shrubs sitting on the porch and just do it himself. 

He probably should have been ashamed of that line of thinking. He definitely should have known better. 

And this was his life now, Bucky marveled. No one was shooting at him or Steve. No one was waving a knife at him or revealing his big plan or waxing poetic about the good old days of Hitler and Schmidt and Stalin. He was tilling the ground in the neglected flowerbed in front of his house, listening to the spray of water and watching Steve clean off the driveway. When they were done, they were going to go inside and have sandwiches and read or watch movies or fuck, and tonight, they'd go to bed together, safe. 

He'd never really been safe. 

Bucky's chest felt tight and he felt like someone had closed a fist around his throat. 

They weren't safe and he knew it, but they were safer than they'd ever been and would be for as long as he could keep them hidden. 

He had the flower bed tilled and was putting away the cultivator when Steve met him in the garage. 

"Do you want help, or should I wash the truck?" He lifted the bottom edge of his shirt and wiped the sweat off his face. The flash of belly was more than Bucky could handle. 

He reached for him, and Steve came easily into his arms. He expected the kiss, welcomed it with slightly-parted lips, and when Bucky pulled away he was smiling. 

Bucky said, "I want to fuck you over your bike." 

Steve laughed and shook his head, turning away, out of Bucky's grasp. He grabbed the bucket and the car wash kit off one of the metal shelves at the end of the garage. "Maybe later." 

It wasn't a bad thought. Bucky just couldn't believe he'd blurted it out like that. He used to be better at hiding his plans. 

Steve washed the truck while Bucky planted the hedges and the sun moved over them. He was watering the bushes, admiring his work, when Steve finished--he'd washed the bikes, too, and checked the fluids in everything and Bucky couldn't believe he was still so meticulous, but of course he was. Steve had been like that back during their war. Bucky thought it was one of those little quirks that had just grown and intensified the more Steve lost control of everything else. Steve pulled the truck and the bikes into the garage and swept the front porch. 

He was taking pride in the house. Making it a real home, his home. Bucky's heart felt way too full and that was a feeling he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to. When they were in the garage together, again, he crowded Steve back against the clean truck and ran his dirty hands all over him and kissed him again and again. 

Steve was breathless when he finally got his hands on Bucky's shoulders and held him away. "What's that for?" 

"Nothing. I love you." Bucky kissed him again. "Are you happy yet? Can we be done?" 

Steve laughed at him and squeezed the back of his neck. "Thank you." 

Bucky pulled away, fighting a scowl and shaking his head. There was nothing for Steve to thank him for. "I know how you want to impress the neighbors." 

Steve looked at him with a strange fond expression and Bucky _hated_ when he did that. He hated it because he didn't feel like he deserved to have Steve look at him like that. He shook it off and headed for the door that would lead them into the laundry room, stripping off his shirt as he went. He was sweaty and muddy and suddenly felt too big for his skin. He wanted a shower and for Steve to just stop looking at him like that. 

But Steve was right on his heels. He hit the button to lower the garage door on their way in and kicked the back door shut behind them. It was mid-afternoon and Bucky was trying to think about napping before dinner. He kicked off his sneakers and shoved his shorts off, dumping everything into the dirty clothes hamper. He didn't want to track mud through the house, he knew how Steve-- 

Steve turned him and pushed him up against the laundry room door. He kissed him, parted lips and rough tongue and nipping teeth. He pushed at Steve. Steve didn't let him push him away. He just crowded him back against the door, and when Bucky was breathless and his head was spinning, he sank to his knees. 

"Steve--" Bucky tugged warningly at his hair. 

He never cared before when he was sweaty or dirty. Times during the war, there was no time for a shower. Sometimes in the field, too. But right in that moment, he just felt overwhelmed. He felt like he'd spent too long staring at the sun. He didn't want Steve to... to... 

Worship. That was what Steve was doing on his knees with his hands on Bucky's hips, with his mouth sliding the length of Bucky's hard dick. Bucky shut his eyes tight. If it was bad when Steve looked at him like that, it was a thousand times worse when Steve touched him the way he looked at him, when he kissed him, when he made Bucky feel like he was the only thing that mattered. 

It was something he knew, but it wasn't something he let himself think about. 

Bucky curled his fingers against door behind him. He felt like the top of his head had been blown off and his muscles turned to liquid and his heart was in his throat. Steve caught him before he fell and pulled him close as he stood up. Bucky shuddered, wrapped up in Steve's arms. 

"What the hell was that for?" 

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's hair and kissed his neck. "Nothing. I love you." 

Bucky flexed his fingers against Steve's sides. "Of course you do," he muttered. "You don't suck a guy's dick when he smells like I do unless you love him." 

Steve laughed. He kissed Bucky lightly. "Can you stand?" 

"Shut up." Bucky pulled away. His knees were still weak and, fuck, Steve was really, really good at that. But he sniffed and he lifted his chin. "You're not that good, pal." 

Steve just gave him that infuriatingly serene smile. "Whatever you say, Buck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky broods and makes some decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.

Steve's fists were tangled in the sheets. He'd thrown his head back and his heels were planted in the bed. Bucky had a mouthful of Steve's balls and one hand sliding up and down his shaft slowly, so slowly. Two metal fingers were curved inside his ass, the tips moving in small circles right where Steve wanted them most. He was flushed from his hairline to the middle of his chest and he was chanting Bucky's name like a hymn peppered with pleas and filth. It was all so hot. Bucky rocked his hips, rubbing his aching cock against the bed, staining the sheets with precome. 

They'd done laundry three times in the last four days. That had to be some kind of record for them. 

Steve shouted for God and Bucky and came, spurting hot and wild over Bucky's hand, coating his own stomach. Bucky stroked and sucked and fingered him through it, until Steve's moans turned piteous and he started trying to squirm away. Bucky let him go, kissing his hip as he wiped his hands in the sheets. Steve settled, breathing hard, one hand in Bucky's hair. Bucky closed his eyes and felt the muscles of Steve's thigh spasm under his cheek. 

He didn't deserve any of this. 

Annoyed with himself, Bucky slid up Steve's body and kissed him soundly. Steve had come three times already; he looked wrecked and more than a little woozy. He made a grab at Bucky as Bucky rolled away, but he missed. 

"Go back to sleep, old man," Bucky said, voice thick with affection. 

Steve struggled up on an elbow. "Where the hell are you going?" 

Bucky pulled on the shorts and t-shirt left on top of the dresser before Steve could really get any ideas. "I'm going to take care of the backyard before you start cracking your whip." He padded back to the bed and leaned to kiss Steve one more time. "You go paint or draw or watch porn--whatever it is you do in that room." He waved in the direction of Steve's studio. 

"Buck--" 

"Nope." Bucky couldn't help one more kiss and didn't. "I'll be done in a while and then you're all mine again. You should nap or something. Get your strength back up." He started backing toward the door. 

Steve frowned at him. Bucky hated that frown because it meant he was doing a shit job of hiding whatever it was he was trying to hide from Steve (usually, as in the current case, his own insecurity) and Steve wanted to call him on it but wasn't sure it wouldn't do more damage. 

Yeah, they knew each other pretty well, he thought wryly. 

Bucky backed out of the room. He hated leaving Steve in bed, looking so edible. He hated leaving him anywhere, to be totally honest. But right then, he just couldn't handle that frown and the working of Steve's brain. 

Maybe he was weak. He never denied that. 

Steve was all he'd ever wanted but there were differences between them that Bucky couldn't ignore. Bucky wasn't Steve. Never had been, not even when he tried so hard, and never would be. Bucky felt like he could look at Steve like Steve had hung the moon--and he wasn't that far into denial, he knew exactly how he looked at Steve, he couldn't help it; the man had been his hero since he was sixteen years old and nothing had changed since 1941. Steve was the man he'd measured himself against, the man he'd never measure up to. Bucky was fine with that. He'd accepted it. He also knew that Steve didn't agree with that assessment even a little. Sometimes... sometimes, knowing Steve thought of him the way he thought of Steve made Bucky feel like his skin was just a little too tight, or like his arm wasn't calibrated. 

He was scowling at himself when he got the lawnmower from the garage and started pushing it over the back lawn. He was brooding and he knew it. 

Everything he'd done had been for Steve. He hadn't really given much thought to himself, but the realization that Steve wanted him, that Bucky could have for himself everything he wanted to give to Steve... It made him feel unworthy. He felt the same as he had when he'd taken up Steve's shield and become Captain America. He just didn't deserve it. 

It was one thing, he thought, to come out here and help Steve get what Bucky knew he'd always wanted. Bucky had never had a family the way Steve had, he'd never understood the _need_ for family. He didn't remember his mother and mostly he was just glad his sister had been wanted. When his dad had died, there had been a whole camp of dads to step in. Only they weren't dads, not really. They were more like older brothers. It was a strange thought to have and Bucky shied away from it, but Steve was probably the closest to a dad he'd had--that was just messed up. During their war, the idea of settling down hadn't been something he could understand. How could he have? He was a kid and all he'd known had been the Army, had been the war. Everyone else had something in the real world to remember. Then with the Russians, the idea of settling down wasn't even one he was capable of entertaining--until, recklessly and stupidly, Natalia, but she had been so young and he might as well have been and they'd both been punished for it. After he'd come back, his options were slim. They were Steve--Steve with the whole weight of the world on his shoulders, Steve who so desperately wanted something normal that he kept reaching for Sharon or anyone but Bucky--and Nat-- Natalia. Bucky had tried once to imagine Nat married. Living together was probably as close as they'd ever come, and Bucky wasn't an idiot. She may have slept with him, her things may have been in his dresser and in his bathroom, but they had never _really_ lived together. He couldn't imagine trying to take up with someone new. He had too much baggage, he couldn't expect someone new to put up with it all. 

Steve, though. Bucky thought Steve's baggage was easy. All he really had were old soldiers' issues. That was why Bucky thought a nice widow with a couple of kids would have been perfect. Steve had a type, sure--Bucky was perfectly willing to admit that some of the ladies who fit Steve's type actually scared the shit out of him--but Bucky figured Steve would be willing to tone it down in retirement. Maybe he could go for another Bernie instead of another Peggy or Sharon. Steve needed someone with some baggage of her own, that was for sure. 

But Steve wanted _him_. 

Bucky didn't know what to do with that. No, that wasn't true. He knew. He knew what he _wanted_ to do. He wasn't sure he and Steve could actually grow old, but he sure wanted to try. Kids he was less sure of. No care system with competent workers would give a former brainwashed Soviet assassin and a laboratory experiment from World War II a kid to raise. But Bucky thought that between the two of them, they probably had everything they needed to raise a kid or two that no one else wanted. 

Kids no one else wanted. 

At least someone had wanted Rebecca. No one had wanted him. 

No one but Steve. 

Bucky huffed. This was stupid. He was being stupid. He shoved the mower down the slope, scowling at the grass. Steve would be a great dad and Bucky would learn. He wouldn't be that bad a parent, he thought; better than the Red Room, better than some of the parents Sam told them about. He didn't think he'd fuck a kid up too much. Steve wouldn't let him. 

Wouldn't they have to be married for that? Bucky couldn't remember if marriage was legal for them in New York--he made a note to check. He was pretty sure they would have to be married if they were going to adopt. 

Having that thought made him swallow hard. The thought of a gold band on Steve's finger rose in his mind. Would Steve wear a wedding ring? 

Why the hell wouldn't he? 

Would he even want to get married? To Bucky? 

Bucky pulled a face. _'Don't stay longer than you want, Buck,'_ he'd said. _Well, fuck you, Steve, I'm staying forever,_ he thought. Steve would have to throw him out. Bucky pictured Steve giving him the bum's rush and laughed a little hysterically. 

He'd gotten over himself enough to be Captain America. Being Steve's co-parent and spouse, all right, that was maybe a lot scarier than smacking some bad guys around with a vibranium shield. Bucky knew he could kill. He knew he could fight. But loving? Staying? Natalia was his only real experience with a healthy, long-term, intimate relationship, and he had the distinct impression that they hadn't exactly been normal. Or really healthy at times. 

Then again, he and Steve weren't normal, and he knew for damned sure that they weren't always healthy. He had moved into Steve's place, slept in his bed, and worn his clothes after Steve's assassination. 

That... wasn't his finest moment. 

They would be fine, though. They _would_. Bucky would make them be fine. And if _he_ couldn't, well, Steve would. Steve had never failed him. 

(Never mind that Steve believed he'd failed him. Never mind that Bucky knew Steve blamed himself for every bad thing that had befallen them since 1941.) 

(They had time now to get over those things. To work through them without the pressure of work or headshrinkers.) 

Bucky trudged up the slope of the backyard, pushing the mower toward the house. He felt a little ill and bone-tired, but the thought of Steve waiting for him-- 

Not the thought. Steve waited for him, sunk to the shoulders in the bubbling, swirling water of the hot tub, his head back, his eyes closed, and Bucky's preferred playlist blasting from the speakers. 

Bucky left the mower near the fence and eyed Steve. "When did you start listening to Nine Inch Nails?" 

"Is that who this is?" Steve raised his head and opened his eyes. "You done brooding?" 

"I was not--" Bucky glared at him. 

Steve smiled. "Come in. I have a surprise for you." 

Bucky sighed. He shoved a hand through his hair. "Steve, if you pissed in the water--" 

Steve frowned at him. 

That he could handle. Bucky pulled off his shirt and kicked off his sneakers. He moved to the edge of the hot tub, but Steve shook his head. 

"What?" 

"All of it." 

Bucky snorted. "I'm not going to be the only one naked this time." 

"Who said you'd be the only one?" 

Bucky was naked, in the water, and on Steve's lap in record time. He even surprised himself. 

Steve put a hand in Bucky's hair and pulled him down. He kissed him slowly, sliding his tongue along the seam of Bucky's lips until Bucky opened his mouth. Steve's tongue swept over his and Steve pulled him closer. Steve's heat and the pounding beat of the music lit up Bucky's blood. 

When Steve broke the kiss, he kept a hand on the back of Bucky's neck and rested their foreheads together. 

"You wanna tell me what's got you brooding?" 

"Nope." Bucky nipped at Steve's lower lip. 

Steve tensed. 

Bucky pulled back a little and searched Steve's face. "What? What's wrong?" 

"You-- You're--" Steve looked like he'd taken a hit to the gut. "Are you leaving?" 

Bucky's heart lurched into his throat. It hadn't even crossed his mind that Steve could think that. "Jesus, Steve, no. No way." 

The naked fear on Steve's face melted into something neutral. "Are you sure? I understand--" 

Bucky kissed him hard. "You don't understand anything, you idiot," he said against Steve's mouth. He wouldn't tell Steve he didn't think he was worthy, but there was no way he'd let Steve believe he'd just _leave_. 

Steve's erection hadn't flagged. Bucky pressed his hips against Steve's, rubbing the shafts of their cocks together. He sighed into Steve's mouth and decided a subject change was in order. 

"Waiting for me, huh?" 

Steve gripped one of Bucky's hips. He bit at Bucky's lips. "I wish you'd stayed in bed." 

Bucky laughed at him. He wrapped his arms tight around Steve's shoulders and rocked their cocks together, hips moving to the rhythm of the song. "You would have dragged me out of bed and made me get to work, anyway. I just beat you to it. Steve--" 

Steve released his hip in favor of sliding his fingers across Bucky's ass and down along the furrow. He licked at Bucky's lips. "I would have returned the favor," he breathed. 

"That wasn't... a... favor you had to... return..." Bucky gasped when Steve brushed fingertips over his asshole. "Steve..." He pressed back. 

"I know." Steve captured his mouth again and kissed him senseless. He eased just the tip of one finger into Bucky's asshole. 

It wasn't enough, it wasn't near enough, but Bucky came, anyway. He cried softly into Steve's mouth, embarrassed. It was barely a finger and barely any friction. Steve got him off with a _tease_. 

He settled on Steve's thighs and wrapped one hand around Steve's cock. He stroked once before Steve grabbed his wrist. Steve kissed him again, wrapped his arms tight around Bucky, and pulled him closer. He held him. 

Bucky wanted to pull away. He didn't need to be held, dammit. But he kind of did, and Steve was big and warm and Bucky felt safe and more than a little drowsy. 

He nuzzled the curve of Steve's neck. "Let's go out tomorrow night," he mumbled. 

Steve slid his fingers down Bucky's spine. "Sure. Where do you want to go?" 

"I don't know." Bucky pressed closer. "Let's go on a date."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A bad alternator leads to a failed date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: This is not an M-rated chapter. This is barely a T-rated chapter. It's also kind of short and miserable.

Bucky's first hint was the way the headlights started to dim halfway down the road between their driveway and the state highway. The second hint was the rapid deceleration. By the time the truck sputtered and died completely, he knew what was wrong--and he knew that the night was a total loss, unless they wanted to hop on their bikes. It wasn't as romantic as holding hands in the cab of a rusty pickup, but they could still get out to dinner. He glanced down at his cell phone. The "no service" notification at the top of the screen told him that they likely wouldn't even be doing that since he couldn't call a tow service. 

"Alternator?" 

"Yeah." Bucky turned the key in the ignition, shutting off the truck as a formality. He glanced across the cab. "Your phone got any bars?" 

"I didn't even bring my phone," Steve admitted sheepishly. 

Bucky laughed. He wasn't surprised. He was still the far more paranoid of the two of them. "Well, it's a good thing you're a supersoldier. We're gonna need that strength, this thing's a tank. And it's a good thing I have this." He shrugged out of his jacket, acutely aware of Steve's curious gaze. Bucky reached up the left sleeve of his shirt and disconnected his arm. He laid it in his lap and reached again, this time removing the palm-sized remote tucked into its storage place. He activated the remote, set cybernetic fingers to steering wheel, and swept his thumb over the touchpad to make the fingers grip the steering wheel. 

"That's... really weird," Steve said warily. 

Bucky knew it was weird. It was still weird for him sometimes. He waggled his eyebrows at Steve in the silver-lit darkness. "You've never seen it crawl like Thing from _The Addams Family_." 

Steve blinked at him, the expression on his face making it clear that he had no idea how to even respond to that. 

Bucky laughed because that was all he could do. "Get out. You can help me push and I'll steer with this." He waved the remote at Steve. 

"That's really weird," he said again. 

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. "Says the guy who got shot up with super size me serum and fought a guy without skin on his face _seventy years ago_." 

Steve opened his mouth, seemed to consider whatever he was about to say, and closed it. He shrugged. "I guess we've seen weirder," he conceded, and slid out of the truck. He slammed the door behind him. 

Bucky grinned. 

He climbed out of the truck. Being without his arm always made him feel self-conscious and a little off-balance; he tried hard to ignore the feeling. They weren't in any real danger. Car trouble was possibly the most mundane kind of trouble he'd ever had. Bucky went around to the front of the truck and put his hand out. The grille was still warm in the chill of the night air. Steve shuffled closer, his jacket brushing Bucky's empty shirtsleeve, and he set both hands on the edge of the hood. 

"We're pushing it backwards?" 

"I don't think we're going to run into anyone else," Bucky said. He shook his head. "Turning this thing around would be a pain in the ass. We've only got a couple of miles to go, anyway." 

Steve smiled tightly. He was pale and silvery in the moonlight. "Only." 

"Hey, at least no one's shooting at us." Bucky gave him a wild grin, more pleased about that than he probably should have been. 

Steve, unexpectedly, grinned back. "You know, that's my second favorite part of being retired." He braced his legs apart and leaned forward. "Ready?" 

"Let's go." 

As one, they started to push. 

The truck began to roll backward. 

Bucky kept one eye on the glint of metal he could see through the truck's windshield and one on the tires to be sure he didn't accidentally turn the wheel and drive them into a ditch. He wasn't sure he and Steve were strong enough to get a 1975 Chevy Cheyenne out of a six-foot deep ditch. Steve kept pace beside him. Bucky felt the occasional brush of Steve's body against his own. It was always disconcerting for him when his arm was missing--but having Steve so close staved off the panicky feeling he sometimes got when he felt vulnerable. 

Still, he thought it qualified as a pretty shitty date. 

Steve's words came back to him and to distract himself, he asked, "What's your favorite part of being retired?" 

Steve looked at him strangely. "Really?" 

Bucky frowned. "Really what?" 

Steve shook his head. "You, Buck," he said, as if he couldn't believe Bucky would consider that something else might be better. 

Bucky flushed. "Oh." 

"Oh," Steve repeated, mocking him. 

Together, they pushed the truck back a mile in silence. Awkward silence, Bucky thought, because he could feel Steve beside him with the wheels of his mind turning. Pushing a car made Bucky feel just as trapped as being inside one. If Steve tried to talk about-- But, no. Steve wouldn't do that to him. Not when he was one-armed and embarrassed. Would he? 

"Sorry about tonight," he mumbled. 

Steve looked at him from the corner of his eye. "It's not your fault the alternator went out. Besides, I don't mind." He bumped gently into Bucky. "What were we going to do?" 

Bucky shrugged like he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Dinner. I don't know, maybe a walk?" 

Steve was doing it again. Looking at him. Bucky fidgeted, hard to do walking so close to Steve and throwing his weight against the truck. He tried shrugging again, but the absence of the weight of his left arm just made him uncomfortable, made him feel oddly exposed. 

The night, he thought, was a kind of disaster. 

It didn't seem to matter that disasters weren't the same as they used to be. 

"The walk is a nice idea," Steve said. 

Bucky gave him a sharp look. "Don't make fun of me, Steve." 

"I'm not making fun of you, Buck." Steve leaned into him again, briefly. "You worked so hard to-- I'm grateful." 

Bucky scowled at the hood of the Chevy. 

Steve started to say something else, to stick his foot in his mouth, to try to draw Bucky out of himself. Bucky could feel it and he tensed against it. Then Steve seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say and he shut his mouth. 

Bucky was the grateful one then. 

They pushed the truck all the way back home in silence. 

He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew his brooding wasn't helping Steve or himself. All he'd wanted was to take Steve out to dinner, maybe even hold his hand. He wanted a normal date. They'd done normal dates, but they'd never done them together and they'd never done them without the remote threat of real danger. Bucky thought it would be nice. Instead, they were pushing their dead truck home--and Bucky should have checked it over more thoroughly, he knew he should have, and he couldn't help being pissed off about that, too--and the buzz of the insects in the woods around them seemed to roar in his head, making him feel even more out of sorts. By the time they got home, Steve was pressed tight to his left side like he knew Bucky didn't feel safe without his arm, even though he could see it _right there_. 

Steve held the truck in place in the driveway while Bucky reached into the cab and threw the transmission into park. 

"I'll go in the morning to get the parts we need," he said. The week was pretty much over, anyway. _So much for the honeymoon,_ he thought, half-bitter. He held his arm just above the elbow, following Steve into the house and ignoring the looks Steve kept shooting him. He was suddenly very tired. Or maybe he just wanted to go to bed and forget the night's failure. 

Bucky popped his arm back on and stared down at the shiny metal hand as he flexed it, waiting for the whole thing to recalibrate. 

He was standing in the kitchen, staring through the window into the dark backyard, when Steve found him again. Steve wrapped a big warm hand around his cold fake wrist and pulled him toward the sliding doors. 

"Come on." 

Bucky resisted. "We can just go to bed, Steve--" 

"You promised me a date," Steve said, giving him a significant look. 

Bucky always tried harder to keep his promises to Steve. Sometimes he felt like that was all he could really give him, the best of himself. So he let Steve pull him out into the backyard. 

Steve chose a place on the gentle slope of the back lawn. He spread an old quilt on the damp grass and stretched out on it, crossing his ankles and tucking his hands under his head. He looked up at Bucky. 

"Come on." 

Bucky wasn't entirely certain what Steve was off to, but settled on his back next to Steve. He tucked one arm under his head and stared up. 

Steve didn't move closer. He didn't wrap his arms around Bucky and pull him close. He just reached for the hand at Bucky's side and linked their fingers. 

The moon had sunk below the treeline, leaving the sky dark. There was the faint orange glow from the lights on in the house, but it wasn't enough to block out the twinkling stars. Bucky heard the insects, the nocturnal predators, in the woods a few hundred meters away. But for a long time, they just laid there in silence, holding hands and looking up at the sky. 

Steve squeezed his fingers. "You don't have to try so hard, Buck," he said softly. 

Bucky shifted his weight. "I don't know what you're talking about." It was a lie and they both knew it. 

Steve turned his head, looking at Bucky from the pillow of his arm and Bucky couldn't stand _that_ look, either. His lips quirked. "You want me to say it?" 

Bucky glowered at the north star as though it had personally offended him. "Don't you dare." 

Steve's laugh rang as clear as the night. He released Bucky's hand in favor of--finally--reaching for him. He hauled Bucky close. 

"I love you." 

"Of course you do. I'm awesome." 

"No, Bucky." Steve's arm tightened around his shoulders. He pressed his face to Bucky's hair. "I love you. I really love you. You keep saving me when I need it most." His lips brushed Bucky's jaw just below his ear. "I know you wanted to go out tonight, and I'm sorry we couldn't. But this?" Steve sighed softly against him, sending a shiver through Bucky. "I'd rather have you than anything else." 

Bucky's breath caught. Steve was the only idiot who could get away with saying those things and it wasn't even fair. He tried to scoff, tried to roll his eyes. 

"You're a _sap_ , Rogers." 

Steve rolled them until Bucky was on his back. His smile, what Bucky could see of it in the faint light, was almost sad. "Yeah." 

Bucky lifted his hands. He wanted to wipe that sadness right off of Steve's face and out of his eyes. Before he could do anything, Steve was moving over him, kissing him. He kissed his mouth and Bucky rose into the kiss, and then Steve was kissing his jaw, his neck, and working his way down. Bucky put his hands in Steve's hair and didn't stop him at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truck repairs, fantasy fulfillment, and a christening. Bucky even manages not to brood too much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.

Bucky wanted to reach down and rip the old alternator out of place, but doing that would probably cause damage to at least the power steering pump and who knew what else. He was pretty sure the rest of what was under the hood was in relatively serviceable shape. There was no sense in doing unnecessary damage. He was just... frustrated. He closed his eyes and braced his hands on the edge of the engine compartment and he took a long, deep breath. 

The day had already warmed up, clear and cloudless, and at close to noon he was regretting not pushing the truck into the garage to take care of the alternator. The back of his neck and his real arm were hot, the skin burning in the sun. He hadn't expected this to take so long. If he had--well. He'd have come more than once and he'd have taken Steve to breakfast in town before he came back to start on the repairs. 

Bucky sighed, rolling his shoulders. The night before hadn't been a total waste, but now he knew what he wanted. And what he wanted was to fix the damned truck so they could park it down by the river and make out like randy teenagers on a sleeping bag thrown into the bed. 

He wasn't asking for much. 

Bucky pushed away from the truck for a moment, standing straight and stretching. Gritty, dirty grease streaked his human arm from wrist to elbow. The shirt was ruined--he was glad it was just a white one and one of his own, too. There was a sore spot at the back of his head and still a faint tingling in the nerves of his left shoulder from where he'd forgotten himself and grabbed the naked battery cable with his left hand; the jolt hadn't hurt, there were dampeners in the shoulder socket to prevent that, but it had shocked him enough he'd jumped and banged the back of his head on the hood latch. His knuckles were scraped raw and there was a smear of oil inside his right wrist. 

It was all painfully mundane and he liked it. 

But he still wanted some mechanic's gloves. And a long-sleeved shirt. And shade. 

Finally, he got the first bolt loosened. That was when he heard one of the house doors _click_ open. Bucky glanced up to find Steve coming toward him, barefoot, clad in sweats and a t-shirt, and carrying a bottle of water. 

He peered into the engine compartment. "How's it going?" 

Bucky scowled at the engine. "Fucking Detroit dinosaurs," he grumbled. 

Steve chuckled. 

Bucky glanced at the bottle of water. "Is that for me?" 

"Maybe." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Maybe?" Had Steve abandoned his mother hen tendencies? 

"Do I get a kiss?" 

Bucky laughed at him and braced his hands on the edge of the engine compartment to lean over. Steve's lips were there, warm and sweeter than they should have been. Bucky liberated the bottle of water while he licked at Steve's mouth. 

Steve anchored a hand in Bucky's hair, holding him close when he tried to pull away. "Stop running out on me so fast," he said softly. 

Bucky leaned in again, resting his forehead against Steve's. "I wanted to get the truck fixed," he said, like that was the only reason he'd left Steve--again--reeling from orgasm and sprawled alone in their bed. He pulled away and Steve let him go. 

Steve moved around to the side of the truck and leaned against the fender. He peered into the shadows under the hood, eyes narrowed, gaze sliding over the tangle of wires and hoses and moving parts. Bucky watched him, twisting open the bottle and downing half the water at once. 

"What's taking so long?" 

"Awkward angle, stripped bolts, and I think something is rusted. I can smell it." He rubbed his forehead dry on his sleeve and the white came away gray and wet. Bucky made a face. 

"You need any help?" 

Bucky looked at Steve, fond but irritated. "Your hands are bigger than mine, buddy. What makes you think _you_ can get them in there if _I_ can't?" 

"I can get my hands lots of places you can't," Steve said mildly. 

Dammit, was he blushing? Bucky was blushing. He ducked his head, hiding in the curtain of his hair. He didn't even know he _could_ blush anymore. One intimation that Steve likes sticking his fingers up Bucky's ass and he's turning into _Steve_. 

Despite Bucky's attempt at hiding, Steve saw the blush. He smiled serenely. "You ready for a break?" 

Bucky wasn't sure he trusted that smile or the casual tone of Steve's voice. "Why? Are you going to make me a sandwich?" Which, actually, now that he was thinking about it wouldn't be unwelcome. Maybe there was some of that chicken salad left... 

"Better." Steve stuck a hand into the pocket of his sweats and fished something out. He tossed it at Bucky. 

Bucky caught it against his chest and looked down. Lube. One of those single-use packets that had come in the multipack of condoms he'd dropped into the grocery cart as a joke, telling Steve he wasn't sure he was ready for kids just yet and he knew how drugs could unbalance his delicate system. He'd thought Steve had thrown it all out. His head snapped up and Steve was grinning at him. 

Bucky followed him into the garage. 

As soon as they were fully into the shadows of the garage, Steve fisted his hands in Bucky's shirt and hauled him close. They were all wet kisses and roaming hands until Steve stopped moving, and Bucky felt the leather saddle of the bike at Steve's thighs when he reached down to grope Steve's ass. 

Steve pushed his hands between them to run them up under Bucky's shirt and down to open his pants. He wrapped one hand around Bucky's cock and _pulled_ , one hand pressed to the small of Bucky's back to push him closer, until there was no space left between their bodies. Bucky gasped. 

"Fuck me," Steve breathed, and nipped Bucky's lower lip. "You said you wanted to bend me over the bike. C'mon, Buck. Do it." There were challenges in his voice. 

Bucky didn't need the challenge. 

He got his hands in Steve's pants, around his cock and under his balls, gripping, rolling. Then he was groping Steve's ass under cotton, fingers sliding between his cheeks, lower. Steve was slick already--he'd prepped himself. Bucky thought of Steve in the bathroom, leaning against the counter, two fingers thrust up into himself, face flushed, lips red. He groaned. 

He'd never get used to this. 

He pushed Steve's shirt up under his arms and pushed his pants down to his knees, turned him, and bent him over the seat of the bike. 

Nope, that. He'd never get used to seeing Steve like _that_ and knowing he could have whatever he wanted. 

Bucky bit open the lube and slicked his cock with one hand as he rubbed Steve's back. Then he was sliding in and no, _this_ , he'd never get used to _this_. He hoped he never did. 

Steve moaned, his head back and his eyes shut so that his long lashes shaded his cheeks. Bucky wanted to lean forward, to lay his bare stomach along Steve's bare back, to cup his jaw with his metal hand and kiss him, steal his breath and consume him. But he also wanted to fuck him, rough and hard, and listen to the creak of the bike as it gave beneath them, listen to Steve's sharp gasps and stuttered moans. Bucky ran his hands up and down Steve's back and gripped his hips. He shifted the angle of penetration until he could feel that he'd found the right spot, could feel the desperation in Steve every time he thrust in. 

He wondered if he could get Steve off without touching his cock. 

It turned out he could. 

He did. 

Steve shoved back hard against him, one hand on the leather saddle, one hand behind him on Bucky's half-bare hip. The filth falling from his lips--it was too much, too much combined with the flush of Steve's skin, the tight heat of his ass around Bucky's cock. He stabbed in deep and lost it, coming hard. He slumped over Steve, sweaty chest to sweaty back, and he kissed the back of Steve's neck, kissed the neat edge of his hairline behind his ear. 

When Steve turned his face, Bucky sealed their mouths together. 

Steve keened into the kiss when Bucky shifted his hips to pull out of him. 

In the aftermath, they helped each other right their clothes, touching too much and stealing kisses. Steve tucked his fingers into the front belt loops of Bucky's jeans and pulled him in close. He kissed him lightly, sliding lips, and let his hands skim Bucky's sides. Bucky pushed his fingers through Steve's hair and thought he wouldn't mind at all if they stood right here and did this all day. 

"You want some help with the truck?" 

Bucky sighed and leaned in. He nodded. "Yeah." 

*

It hadn't taken long at all to fix the truck--turned out Steve's big hands had some strength and dexterity Bucky had underestimated--and they'd spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, Bucky stretched out on his back with his head on Steve's thigh, with Steve's fingers in his hair. Bucky had dozed and half-listened to the ball game, Steve had read. There were kisses, half-hearted gropes, and when they'd gone out to pick up dinner, Steve had even held his hand when they'd stood in line to order. 

Bucky liked it all. 

Now, with the sun down, the doors locked, and Steve's ass picture-perfect on the stairs in front of him, Bucky just didn't want to wait anymore. 

He tugged on Steve's arm. Steve paused and turned and Bucky pulled him down before he could even ask _what_. He sat Steve on the stairs--too narrow, too short, but he did it anyway--and straddled his lap. He didn't settle. They were both pretty agile, but he didn't want to end up in the emergency room trying to explain to some kid doctor why he and Steve had fallen down a flight of stairs. The nightmares about breaking his hip were enough, he didn't need the reality. The insides of his thighs brushed Steve's knees and he leaned in, sliding a hand under Steve's shirt and up the center of his chest. 

"We should christen every room of the house." He ducked his head and kissed Steve fiercely, thrusting his tongue past his lips. 

Steve tangled his fingers in Bucky's hair and dropped his head back, exposing the line of his throat to Bucky's teeth and tongue. "That's the best idea you've had all day." 

"I think the bike was my idea," Bucky mumbled against the hollow of his throat. 

Steve tugged at his hair, pulling Bucky up into another kiss. "Not today it wasn't." 

Bucky laughed against Steve's neck and leaned back. He pulled Steve's shirt over his head, mussing his hair, and tossed it behind him. He settled on Steve's knees and leaned back in, greedy for Steve's skin, for his touch, for his heat and his kisses and the smile that curved against Bucky's lips. 

They kissed. Bucky cupped Steve's face, framing it with his hands, and he kissed him again and again and again until he was dizzy. Steve clutched at him, fingers dug into the meat of muscle in his lower back, and his hips jerked up. He was hard already, pressing up against Bucky's thigh through his pants, through Bucky's shorts, and he just couldn't have that. Bucky slid a hand into Steve's pants and wrapped cool metal fingers around his dick. 

Steve sighed and dropped his head back. Bucky watched his face as he stroked him slowly. He watched the bliss suffuse Steve's expression, watched that little wrinkle form between his eyes as Bucky drew him closer and closer to the edge. Steve licked his lips, parted them to pant through them. He was leaned back on his elbows, letting Bucky have his way--and Bucky knew he'd pay for it later, pay for it with adoration in Steve's eyes and from his lips, but he took it because watching the skin around Steve's eyes tighten, watching the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallowed, feeling Steve shaking beneath him, it was worth it. It was all worth it. 

Steve came. Bucky ducked his head and sealed his mouth over Steve's, swallowing the soft cry and long moan, and he worked him through it, fingers sliding in the mess he'd made, pulling roughly until Steve bucked up, until Steve bit his lip and gasped. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and kissed him, shoving his hips forward. Steve got the hint. 

He sank a hand into Bucky's shorts and wrapped his big fingers around Bucky's cock. It didn't take long--certainly not long enough--but Bucky couldn't hold back, not when Steve was warm and willing and wanting, when Steve was teasing his tongue over his lips and asking him in that soft breathy whisper, "You gonna come, Buck?" 

When it was over, when his release was cooling in his shorts, he sagged against Steve, letting him take his whole weight. Steve could handle it. He wrapped his arms around Steve and pressed them together. Something in his chest loosened when Steve hugged him back, as though he might have been worried that Steve wouldn't. Blond hair tickled his mouth and jaw and Bucky didn't care. He pressed his face to Steve's hair and breathed in. Steve's skin was sweaty, stuck to his own, and Bucky's heart beat a little wildly in his chest. Soon, they'd be ready for another round. 

The upstairs hallway had that nice rug...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little slow and thoughtful and Bucky has the realization we all knew he'd reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's been following.

Fingers skimmed his shoulder, tracing the faded scars from 1945. Bucky held his breath. Steve's fingertips were rough, calloused, but his touch was gentle. Too gentle. Exploratory. Bucky wanted to pull away and make him stop; he knew that, even now, Steve blamed himself, that he saw the loss of Bucky's arm and the shiny cybernetic replacement as proof of his failure. 

It wasn't proof of Steve's failure. Steve had never failed him. Steve was probably the only person in Bucky's entire life--including himself--who _hadn't_ failed him. 

But it didn't matter how many times he said that or how many times he showed it. Steve was a stubborn bastard ( _no offense, Mrs. Rogers_ ). He'd punish himself forever if Bucky let him. 

Bucky just wouldn't let him. 

Steve's lips were next, as gentle as his fingers but softer. Each kiss was a benediction, each kiss was an absolution. Steve kissed the seam where the implants ended and Bucky's body began, from the top of his shoulder to just under the wing of his shoulder blade. He kissed his way inward then, until he could rest his lips on the knob of his spine. His breath was warm. 

Bucky still felt like he was drowning. 

Steve rested his cheek against Bucky's shoulder and slid his hand over Bucky's side, flat palm and splayed fingers over his belly. Bucky knew Steve knew he was awake and he was grateful that Steve hadn't forced... whatever this was. He didn't know what to do with Steve's quiet reverence. He never knew what to do with it, not really. He didn't know at all what to do with it on a Sunday morning, at barely past dawn, with the watery sunlight telling him it's going to be a stormy day, when his body aches in the best way because of everything they did the night before. 

They hadn't managed to christen every room, but Bucky thought they got a pretty good start. 

Steve kissed his shoulder blade again, kissed the dip of his spine between his shoulders. His fingers moved, tips raking through the coarse hair trailing down from Bucky's navel. He didn't say anything. 

Bucky wanted to pull away from him. He wanted to roll over and push Steve down into the bed, kiss him and touch him until he forgot whatever it was he was trying to do. Bucky wasn't sure he wanted Steve's reverence and complete attention while he was in this _mood_. He could sense it, as real and dangerous as the promise of rain or the threat of violence. 

Steve wanted to worship. He wanted to reflect and he wanted to drag Bucky into this moment with him. 

Bucky wanted to end it before it started. 

"Stop running out on me so fast," Steve had said. 

Bucky didn't have it in him to deny Steve anything he asked for. Not even this. 

Steve ran his fingertips, then his fingers, then his whole hand up and down Bucky's side, up and back and around, over the scars on his shoulder and on his back and low on his hips, exploring them all. Bucky didn't think much about his scars, about the bullets and knives and shrapnel that left their scars, about the jut of a couple of ribs that didn't heal quite right back in '44. There was a jagged scar over his hip, just above where his pants slung when they were too low that burned sometimes. Steve touched them all. He kissed what he could reach and still stay snuggled up close behind Bucky. And Bucky closed his eyes and tried to breathe and just let him. 

They both had scars, both had stories. Seventy years apart, of course they did. Bucky wasn't in any hurry to spill the details of his life without Steve, though Steve knew plenty of it. The scars just didn't matter as much as what they had now. 

Steve pressed a hand to the center of Bucky's chest, pulling him back. He kissed the back of his shoulder, the curve of his neck, and buried his nose in Bucky's hair. Bucky felt him breathe in. He didn't say anything. 

It was a small mercy. 

Bucky rolled into Steve's arms. He captured his mouth, kissed his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. He moved slowly, as if through water-- He banished that thought. Not here. He wrapped his arms around Steve, resting his human hand at the small of his back and playing the tips of his fingers over the end of the fading scar there. The serum made it so that they shouldn't be there and they were fading, but not fast enough. Bucky knew why. Or he thought he did. 

Steve was lacking faith. 

He'd heard the story. When Steve's convictions had failed him, when he'd had that crisis of faith in himself and what he fought for, he'd gotten back his old body. Bucky thought maybe it was the same thing now, Steve losing faith in himself. The exhaustion getting to him, seeping into everything, making Steve doubt that there was any real good in the world. 

Losing your kid would do that to you. 

Bucky pushed Steve facedown into the bed and moved over him. He sat up, knees tucked against Steve's hips, and he looked down. Steve tucked his arms under the pillow and exhaled. There was familiar tension in his shoulders, but he submitted. 

Steve, even now, was fair. He'd explored Bucky's scars. Bucky was welcome to explore his. 

Bucky touched them. There was the one long one, pink and narrow now and running the length of his spine from his shoulders to his hips. It had healed well, would be faded white and gone altogether soon, but it was still there for now. There were smaller ones, like shrapnel scars peppering his back. There were more on his sides, bullet wounds knitted shut on his shoulders. Bucky stroked them with his fingertips, then leaned in and pressed parted lips to each scar. His hair brushed Steve's skin and he felt more than heard the catch of Steve's breath. 

Bucky didn't want to linger. He didn't want to reflect. He draped himself over Steve's back, sliding his hands along Steve's arms until he found Steve's fingers under the pillow. He linked their fingers and kissed the meat of Steve's shoulder. 

They each carried the guilt of not being there for the other, of failures. Bucky thought Steve carried more of it--but, then, he always had, and Bucky thought he was probably better at just accepting things. He understood, though. He had nothing to do with Dimension Z, but he wished he could have been there--at the very least, to free him. But Bucky knew that if he had been the one to rescue Steve from Zola, they wouldn't be where they are. 

Bucky would never have shot a child. 

Steve never would have lost Ian. 

Bucky closed his eyes. He hadn't let himself think of it yet, but now he did. If he could go back, take the mission instead of Sharon, rescue Steve and Ian both, he'd do it. He'd trade everything they'd built in Cornwall, every moment he'd had Steve all to himself, if it meant Steve got Ian back. 

Bucky choked. 

Steve turned his face and Bucky found his lips. He slid off to the side and Steve rolled and they were face to face, belly to belly. Steve wanted to talk, Bucky could feel it in the way he drew a breath, the way his shoulders tensed. So Bucky kissed him. He didn't want to talk. If they talked, he'd tell Steve the truth, and he didn't need to do that. He didn't want to think about scars--the ones on their bodies or the ones on their hearts or the ones on their minds--and he didn't want to think about how they'd gotten there. None of it mattered. All that mattered was Steve in his arms, Steve's mouth under his, taste and scent and touch. He wanted to just _be_ and Steve--Steve needed to learn how to be, too. He needed to stop living in the damned past. 

It was gone. 

Bucky wasn't. 

He was right fucking there. 

So Bucky kissed him. He kissed him for all the times he couldn't. He touched him for all the times he'd wanted to and Steve wasn't there. He pulled him close for all the times Steve had been gone, or he had been gone, for all the times they'd been apart or one or both of them dead. He hooked a leg over Steve's and pressed their cocks together through layers of soft cotton, he fisted one hand in Steve's hair and curled the other fingers at the small of Steve's back. They could fuck. God knew there was enough lube in Steve's nightstand. Bucky could push Steve back, sink down his body, take him into his mouth and earn his merit badge for Best Blowjob Ever. He could spend the whole morning building Steve up and bringing him off, over and over. 

But this seemed much more important. 

He wrapped himself around Steve and they rocked together, sharing breath, sharing heartbeats. 

Bucky needed the scars to go away. He'd do whatever it took. 

When Steve came, he kissed Bucky's shoulder where flesh met metal. Bucky gasped and followed Steve over the edge. 

Following Steve was always what he'd been best at.


End file.
